


Armed With The Truth

by Leni



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season 3 Finale, belle finds out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leni/pseuds/Leni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3x21-22. The last hours of Belle's single life.</p><p>AKA: How Belle found out the truth, and what she chose to do with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Armed With The Truth

**Author's Note:**

> **A.N.** : Inspiration came from [this scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-i02FSdQOzU), seconds 0:38-0:39  
>  **A.N.2** Pretend Emma didn't get David's message.

Rumpelstiltskin had looked worried.

That was what was nagging her ever since they'd left the sheriff's office.

Not that he’d announced who held the dagger, when he’d always been secretive about its location.

(Everybody in the room had already known that Regina had passed it on to Belle, after all, and nobody needed to learn that it had changed hands back and forth in the hours since.)

Not that he’d stayed behind when the rest of them scrambled to gather around the surveillance screen.

(Rumpelstiltskin had never been one to rush where others lead, certainly not when he could watch over the proceedings without straining himself.)

Those little hints had not raised Belle’s suspicion. Nor should they have, when they were so easily explained.

But in that moment when she had glanced back at him, while David set up the system to watch last night's recording, Rumpelstiltskin had looked _worried_. It hadn't surprised her at the time. The man had been under Zelena's control for months; he had a right to worry that she wasn't in her cell anymore.

Belle would have said something, perhaps called him to join her, but she knew and understood his sense of privacy. It wasn't necessary, either, as he had quickly noticed her attention and given her a reassuring nod.

And she, of course, had felt reassured.

Whatever Zelena had planned, they would beat her again. Even if she managed to recover her pendant, she would have no chance without the dagger of the Dark One.

Then the video malfunctioned, and by the time it was showing Zelena’s death, Belle was too relieved - and then a little guilty at her relief - to wonder about Rumpelstiltskin’s behavior. The rest of the day had been spent on the preparations for their wedding: choosing a bouquet at Game of Thorns (while handling her father’s questions with as much honesty as he could handle), checking that Archie knew the time and place of the ceremony (while promising that Rumpelstiltskin had not chosen the well because it was a site of power, but because of its private significance in their story), and canvassing the local boutiques for an adequate dress (while denying herself the temptation to let her fiance magic one for her - a difficult task even without him texting the offer every twenty minutes).

She could have gone on to marry Rumpelstiltskin with a light heart…

If they hadn’t attended the naming ceremony.

If Emma hadn’t caught them on their way out of the diner.

“Hey, Belle! Rum-- I mean, Gold.” 

Emma rolled her eyes at herself at her slip, but neither Belle nor Rumpelstiltskin called her on it; half of Storybrooke had their own difficulties with names, and in their case, they couldn't care less except to agree that, if Belle must have a last name in this world, then Belle Gold had a nice ring to it.

“Great. I almost didn’t see you leaving.” Emma stepped closer, creating a modicum of privacy in the crowded room. That they were so close to the door helped. “First, I’m glad you’re here. Really. I wouldn't have wanted to be the only one who knew Neal from before.” She gave them a hesitant smile. “I hope it wasn’t too awkward?”

Belle felt her love tense, but only because her elbow was threaded through his. Outwardly he stayed as calm as his voice when he said, “Not at all, Miss Swan.” He even managed a small, sincere smile. “Tell your parents the gesture has been duly appreciated.”

Even though the boy he’d raised and loved had been named Baelfire. But it was the man they were honoring tonight, and Rumpelstiltskin didn’t begrudge his son his choices. The change of a name. The sacrifice of a life. He may not _approve_ , but he respected them.

“It was a sweet thing,” Belle added when Emma seemed to be calculating how much sarcasm had been in Rumpelstiltskin’s response. Apparently, his sincerity had yet to be recognized by the masses. “Neal would have-” Well, he would have laughed long and hard at the idea of a prince carrying his name. The weeks they had spent at the Dark Castle had introduced to Belle a quiet, determined man with no use for flights of fancy. Neal would have been perplexed to find himself under such royal favor. “He’d have liked it.”

“To be the center of attention?” Emma made a face. “He would’ve had to get over the horror first.”

To the surprise of both of them, Rumpelstiltskin chuckled at that. “He was always too shy.”

“He was at that,” Emma agreed. Then she took a long look at Rumpelstiltskin and her features softened for a second before she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “Look. I came to talk to you because I didn’t want you to leave before saying… I’m sorry.” She hurried through the rest of it, her voice low enough so that despite the closeness Belle could barely catch the words over the noise around them. “I’m sorry Neal is dead - and not only because I loved him, and we could have… well. But because he was your son and you loved him too. Maybe more. No, scratch that. _Of course_ more.”

The noise Rumpelstiltskin made this time had an edge of distress, and Belle was quick to search out his hand.

Emma continued. “And I’m so fucking sorry that we had a time traveling spell working and we _still_ couldn’t save him.” She made an unconscious helpless gesture, hands spread at the height of her chest, then caught herself and straightened. “I’m just… sorry.”

Rumpelstiltskin regarded the blonde for a long moment and then, slowly, started, “So there was a chance.” He ignored both Belle’s gasp and Emma’s quick head shake. “I cannot know what it involved, but if you truly went back to your parents’ first meeting then there’s not much of a choice, is there?” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “Ah, don’t try to deny it, dearie. I do know what potions I make, even if I cannot remember taking them.”

Emma hunched her shoulders. “I’m sorry?”

He sighed, and his fingers curled around Belle’s until she had to bite back a yelp at the sudden pressure. “Just as well,” he decided at last, and his grasp loosened. “Time travel brings no guarantees. The present may not be perfect but”- His eyes flicked toward Belle, a wordless question to which she answered by pressing herself closer to him. “to put it at risk for such little chance of victory…. I’m not fond of such odds, you see.”

Meaning: If he ever found a way to play with the past as he had played all their futures to his own advantage, he wouldn’t hesitate.

Belle wasn’t sure she’d stop him, should it come to that. When his son was the goal, _Rumpelstiltskin didn’t fail_. For three hundred years he had not been content to follow the less-traveled path, oh no, he had carved one for himself with single-minded devotion. He had brought himself (and the rest of the realm) to the Land Without Magic. He had found his son in a world of millions. 

If he had lost Baelfire, Belle suspected it was because he’d never dared to look beyond that first meeting, too afraid that his son would never forgive him.

Should he find a way to reinvent that path….

“Changing the past is too stressful,” Emma said, shuddering at some memory - or perhaps an assortment of them. It sounded like she and Hook had gone through quite a few dangers during their time in the Enchanted Forest. “Only a fool would do it willingly.”

When Rumpelstiltskin only smiled, just as aware as Belle that he'd played the fool quite often and very willingly, if it brought him closer to his objective.

Belle swore to herself that she wouldn't let him obsess over the possibility. Neal hadn't died so they'd waste their lives trying to bring him back. She owed it to her friend to help his father build a future worth the losses he’d suffered. 

“Good thing the portal is closed, then,” she said firmly, maneuvering her love’s hand until it rested at her waist. Her overt demand for attention was not ignored, as his fingers started playing with the edge of her belt, and more importantly, Rumpelstiltskin relaxed beside her. Belle felt a victorious grin tug at her lips as she finished her statement with, “Now we can forget about it and concentrate on our next step.”

If she emphasized the last three words, it was because she couldn't help herself.

Tonight was the night, and she couldn't wait.

“Yes, of course,” Rumpelstiltskin agreed easily, rubbing his thumb against her shirt in a subtle caress. “That next step. I haven’t forgotten, my love.“ He then turned his full attention to Emma, giving her that patient look that meant she could either have something important to say or start her way back to her family.

“Right….” Emma said, obviously sensing they had plans but unwilling to ask and risk being roped into them. “As long as Zelena is under heavy guard - and boy, guards in the Enchanted Forest can be tough! - I guess we can...” She trailed off and peered at Belle. “What happened?”

“You don’t know.” Belle guessed it wasn’t so surprising that Emma hadn’t heard the news. She’d arrived less than an hour ago, and from the bits of conversation she’d overheard, the family had gone over the new version of their history rather than catch up with the events of the day. “When we didn’t find Zelena at her cell, we-”

“ _What?_ She's not there? Where _is_ she?”

“Problem, Swan?” 

Hook had been nursing his ever-present flask a few feet away, but he materialized at Emma’s side at the sound of her raised voice. If Belle could bring herself to like the shameless pirate, she would have called him sweet.

“Seems that way.” Emma yanked him closer so her voice didn’t need to carry. Because, apparently, in the event of an escaped vengeful witch it was best to leave the locals in the dark. Never mind that most of them had faced the Evil Queen at one time or another. “They lost Zelena,” Emma hissed 

Hook’s eyebrows shot upwards. “How do you lose the Wicked Witch?”

“By suicide,” Belle told them plainly. At their shocked expressions, she tried to explain. “We saw the security footage earlier. Regina says it was residual magic, enough to - I don’t know. It looked as if she’d turned herself into a porcelain mannequin and then exploded. Her… essence, I guess… triggered her last spell.”

“The portal,” Hook ascertained.

Belle nodded.

Emma narrowed her eyes, her thoughts obviously following unwanted paths. “How do we know that essence wasn’t sentient and used the portal already?”

Ever the optimistic, she was.

“Because we are still here, Miss Swan,” Rumpelstiltskin answered, his fingers digging a little harder at the flesh at Belle's waist. She didn’t protest, as the harder touch reminded her that, indeed, they were still here and unchanged. “Believe me when I say she would have no pity for any of us.”

Emma thought it over and finally nodded. “So… she’s really dead. Wow. This is really my life.” Her eyes suddenly lit up and just as quickly she was biting her lower lip and avoiding their glances.

Hook and Belle looked askance, but Rumpelstiltskin just heaved an irritated sigh. “Just say it, girl.”

Emma gave a sheepish grin. “Ding dong?” She ignored Rumpelstiltskin’s eye roll, and smiled at the blank look on Hook’s face. “I’ll explain later,” she promised, then took his sleeve right at the hook's base and hauled him toward the front door. “Good night,” she told them over her shoulder. “Whatever your plans are, have fun!” - and in an undertone, ”and please don’t do anything that requires a savior.”

Hook, happy to be dragged away, added a joyful, “Night, mates!” before they stepped outside.

Belle glanced after the couple - for tonight they were definitely acting like a couple - and shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

“They have had quite the adventure,” Rumpelstiltskin mused, nudging her to follow the other pair. ”Necessity makes for strange bedfellows.”

“I’ve had enough of adventure, Rumple.” Belle meant that. All she wanted for the foreseeable future was the chance to enjoy married life in peace - or whatever passed for it in a cursed town in a strange world. “Does that mean I get a fellow in my bed?”

Rumpelstiltskin laughed at her forthrightness. “The strangest yet, love.”

She smiled back, content that his mood had lightened.

Emma and Hook hadn’t gone far, sitting on one of the benches outside the diner. Belle almost called out to them, but decided not to when she realized how involved they looked.

“Okay, it _is_ sweet,” she grumbled in acknowledgement. They might even have a chance, despite Hook's faults. If anyone could make Killian Jones into a decent human being, it was Emma Swan. It couldn’t be harder than what she had already accomplished, right? She’d been the catalyst of so much change in Storybrooke: their sleepy town was now celebrating the birth of its newest member, the Evil Queen called up light magic while Snow White delved into its dark side, children were growing up, and adults… 

Belle leaned against Rumpelstiltskin’s side with a happy sigh. 

Adults were taking their second chances and holding onto them for dear life.

“And here’s my stop,” Belle said as they came to the library door.

Rumpelstiltskin made a face, just like he’d done when she’d first announced her idea earlier that day. “There is plenty of space for you to get ready at my house,” he tried once more, and then sweetened his offer. “You can have the whole second floor and I’ll stay in the guestroom downstairs. Won’t even try to steal a peek.”

Belle shook her head. “It would still be your place. This is… well, mostly mine.” She could remind him that he’d only given her the use of the building, no paperwork involved, which meant that the whole of it was really his property. But she’d already used that argument and it hadn’t moved him one bit.

He wanted her under his roof, under his protection. Belle understood that, but she also needed this symbol that she was choosing to leave her old life behind in order to enter her husband’s home. She’d gone to him out of necessity once; blindly followed Jefferson’s order a second time; and once the first curse had broken, she’d stayed with him largely because of familiarity – and what a mess that had been.

She _needed_ to make this gesture, even if he couldn’t understand the importance of it. 

(and why would he, when he’d made her feel welcome every time? In this, it was she who had learned to change.)

“Have you even checked it after the last curse?” Rumpelstiltskin was saying. “You weren’t even living here when it hit, were you? I bet the electricity is busted.” 

Belle grabbed his wrist before he could magic the building into early dereliction. Then she bent to kiss the center of his palm and cupped her cheek against it. “I love you, Rumple,” she told him, as earnest as ever, “and I will go to you. I swear.”

He eyed her closely, took a deep breath and nodded his acquiescence. “Could be worse, I guess.”

Both had agreed that her father’s home did not represent any part of her present life. “Behave,” she reminded him. “He’ll be taking me to you later.”

His nose wrinkled. “Still don’t know why he bothers. You did a splendid job of it the first time, and it’s only gotten better.” He stole a quick kiss. “Just promise this will be the last time you make me wait.”

“If you promise I won’t need to go looking for you anymore.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

This time it was she who stole a kiss, and then lengthened it until a cold breeze reminded her that she needed to be inside. “I’ll see you at the wedding,” she whispered.

Rumpelstiltskin glanced at her tenderly. “Are you s---?”

Belle bit his lower lip, trying not to blush at her audacity, and met his eye, daring him to finish that question.

Rumpelstiltskin stared blankly for a second, and then broke into gleeful laughter. “As you wish, madam,” he said, and his bow was reminiscent of a time they’d left behind – or perhaps to which they'd finally come full circle.

She curtsied in response, though it felt awkward with her short skirt and high heels, and hurried to get inside before either – or both – of them decided to spend every possible second together and tradition be damned.

“You look lovely,” her father said an hour later when she opened the door to the little apartment, having left the main doors open downstairs so she didn't need to go all the way to welcome him. He glanced around the place, unable to hide a disapproving frown.

“I know. It looks bare.” 

To her best guess, this was a version of her rooms in the Dark Castle, the ones she’d been given between her stays in the dungeon. The whole building was an amalgam of her favorite rooms during her time under Rumpelstiltskin’s employ, with even the odd piece of furniture here and there to prove her theory. The fact that most of that furniture was marked with burns and slashes told her more about Rumpelstiltskin's mood after her departure than he would want her to know. He'd probably tossed the rest away before giving her the keys.

Right after she'd left Rumpelstiltskin's house, Belle had been too overwhelmed by the world outside to make any decision harder than what was safe to eat. Then she'd focused on the library, trying to make a niche for herself in a world she barely understood. Later, Lacey had been more interested in getting out of the creepy, lonely apartment and into more lively and louder places.

“It's not so bad, truly," she reassured her father, trying to explain, "I only stayed here a few weeks before, well, Neverland." She shrugged. "And for half of that time I wasn’t even _myself_. I'm afraid Lacey wasn't much of a homemaker."

Her father winced. Whether he did because his daughter had lost all sense of self, and then been hijacked by a different personality, or because he’d tried to force her across the town line himself, Belle didn’t know.

She wrapped up that line of conversation with a quick, “Point is, I never had time for nesting.”

Her father nodded, but didn’t meet her eyes.

“I still have some things to finish.” She motioned to her loose hair, still wet from the shower. “Do you want some tea while we wait for this to dry? I’m good at tea,” she enticed. “If practice does make things perfect, then mine must be divine.”

“Yes. Thanks.”

Belle busied herself with the careful steeping of the leaves, reminding herself that, unlike Rumpelstiltskin and herself, her father didn’t like it too dark. She squeezed lime juice into his, then poured half the creamer into hers, and brought the tray to the little living room. “Here.”

“Thanks,” her father said again. 

They smiled at each other, but an awkward silence quickly took hold of the room. Belle could have asked about how he’d found Avonlea during their year in the Enchanted Forest, but he’d hinted that the ogres had run free through the territory and Belle didn’t see the point of discussing how to rebuild a land neither might see again.

She could ask about old friends and acquaintances, but all of them had been brought to Storybrooke in the first curse, and in the months since it had been broken none had approached her. If she happened to recognize one of them, they took pains to get out of her way. Even Gaston, once so proud to be her betrothed, had taken one look at her and turned around without a single word.

Outside the few who benefited from Rumpelstiltskin's magic, being his true love meant that people - even her people - distrusted her. 

Regina’s lies had been aimed to destroy whatever alliance there could have been between her father and Rumpelstiltskin. Clerics. Flayings. Punishment and death. None of that had happened. But Belle had the uneasy feeling that, had she made her way straight to Avonlea instead of setting out for adventure, they might have come true. 

Regina had unwittingly prophesied a cleansing, and a forced ride through the town line had almost fulfilled it. In the Enchanted Forest there hadn't been such useful magic to 'purify' her from the Dark One's influence, to what lengths would her father have gone then?

But she'd forgiven him already.

If she could be wife to Rumpelstiltskin, be civil to Hook, and work alongside _Regina_ (gods have mercy on her), then she could hold a meaningful conversation with her father over tea.

Or perhaps not that meaningful.

“We went to the naming ceremony,” she blurted at last, casting for a safe topic. Royalty and the weather, the two favorite crutches of any lagging conversation.

Her father breathed in relief. “I passed by on my way here. Beautiful baby, they’re right to be proud.” He took a slow sip, obviously trying to come up with more. “Heard they’re naming him for the boy’s father – the grandson’s, I mean.”

“Rumple’s son, yes. Neal.”

Her father’s eyes widened. “So it’s true?”

Belle could see how, outside the circle of friends and close allies, the story of Snow White’s daughter and the Dark One’s son having a child would seem more fantastic than any of their tales did to people born to this world. “Yes.” She smiled wryly. “It’s a complicated story.”

And not one she was willing to share on her wedding day. Rumpelstiltskin was liable to fear the worst if she went to him red-eyed and tear-stained.

Instead she turned the topic onto a lighter path. “How does it feel to be related to royalty?”

Her father drew himself up and raised a reproachful eyebrow. “We are. Don’t you remember, Belle? On my mother’s side….”

As ever, he had not gotten the joke.

The thought made Belle smile and relax in her seat as he described their ties to a minuscule kingdom next to the sea. Her father hadn’t changed; _she_ had, and she’d learned to understand him in the process. “Yes, father,” she told him as he finished, “but consider that, from today on, when someone looks into Henry's family tree, we will be there. As a little note, perhaps, but right there.”

Her father shook his head. “We are not blood, Belle.”

“So?” Belle raised her chin in a pose she’d copied from Rumpelstiltskin at his most stubborn. “Regina isn’t blood either, and if she’s there, then I’ll damn well be there as well.”

She didn’t know whether he was more surprised by her statement or her language. Rumpelstiltskin would have howled with laughter, then teased her for her ridiculousness – for she knew she was being ridiculous. Her father just made a garbling sound, as if afraid the Evil Queen would pop up in the room and curse them both.

Belle sighed. “It’s okay, Papa. It was a joke.”

He didn’t look amused at all. “It wasn’t too funny, young lady.”

For one last time, she placated him be playing the dutiful daughter. Tomorrow she would be a married woman and people would stop being so shocked that her allegiances, tastes, and even her sense of humor aligned so well with the likes of her husband.

(Even though that husband would be shocked at that thought.)

“I’m sorry, father.”

He reached to pat her hand. “It’s all right, dear.” 

_My odd little child,_ she could almost hear him say, as when she’d been a girl at his knee. But now the words wouldn’t be full of fond exasperation, but rather doubts and fears. 

Fear for her, she could hope? 

Better that than _of_ her.

Belle rose and made to take the tray to the sink, but her father grabbed it from her and gave her a tight smile. “You go get yourself ready; I’ll take care of this. Don’t worry,” he added at her doubtful look, “I’ve lived by myself for almost thirty years. Never could stand to keep a maid.”

They both smiled a little at that.

Belle relinquished the tray and headed to the bedroom area, where a full-body mirror awaited her. She had to thank Lacey for it, as the apartment had originally come with no reflective surfaces worth the name. She twisted her hair this way and that, trying to get a feeling for it, but finally settled for a simple knot. The hat would be enough to make her feel dressed up.

“Belle?” her father’s voice came through the partition as she brushed her hair. “Is it true…. Is it true you hold that which controls the D--- _him_.”

Belle froze in mid-motion. “What?”

“The witch showed it to everybody, Belle. It’s no secret anymore.”

The witch had too easy a death, Belle thought ruthlessly. That dagger was her love’s weakest link, and Zelena had paraded its power in front of the whole town. “They recovered it,” she said slowly, trying to make the safest choice. “Regina gave it to me.” She’d take the wife’s responsibilities now, and leave the daughter’s duties behind. “And I put it back in Rumpelstiltskin’s hands.”

Not a lie.

“Belle!”

She forced any trace of anger out of her voice, but she couldn’t stop herself from walking back outside. Some things needed to be said face-to-face. “What would you have me do, father? Control my husband for the rest of our days? Keep him in thrall to do my will, my wishes, my whims? I couldn’t!”

She wouldn’t!

Her father scoffed. “Better you than the Wicked Witch.”

“She is dead.”

His mouth opened in surprise, then closed stubbornly as he tried to come up with a new argument.

Belle shook her head and turned around. Why did everybody react with such surprise at the news? Emma had almost jumped to search for the fugitive, Hook had looked ready to follow her. Even earlier that day, when they’d gone to check on the prisoner, their first thought had been that she had escaped. They had all been shocked when….

No.

Not all.

Rumpelstiltskin had looked _worried._

Belle stumbled into the bedroom and sat heavily on the closest chair.

_He’d been worried._

With eyes closed, she recalled every moment of their time at the sheriff’s office. She tried to pin down the moment they’d seen the empty cell, and came up with some distinct images.

Rumpelstiltskin, annoyed.

(Because human security hadn’t been enough to hold a depowered witch?)

Rumpelstiltskin, and a flicker of grief.

(Because, once upon a time, Zelena had been a treasured student…. Right?)

Rumpelstiltskin, fearless and bold.

(Because whatever plan she’d made, it had no chance to succeed.)

(Or… because he’d made sure she wouldn’t make any more plans?)

Rumpelstiltskin, worried. Oh, so very worried.

After David had pointed out the security system.

“Oh.”

It made sense.

Belle hadn’t wanted to chain his will, so she’d asked him to stay his hand instead of demanding it while she held the dagger. Even then, she had let him walk away without an answer.

She had gifted him a loophole. Of course he’d slipped straight through it.

What had she expected?

He hadn’t listened when Belle had begged him to leave Regina alone, and Regina hadn’t done half the damage her half-sister would do.

What _had_ she expected?

Rumpelstiltskin delighted in balancing the scales of favors given and debts owed. He gave where he could take something in return, and he took from those who’d signed themselves away. And when someone took what he had not offered….

Belle shuddered at the lack of clerics on either side of their reality. Once the Order had thrived, but in the months since she’d woken up in Storybrooke the only members to come forward had been a half dozen born to Avonlea – part of the people her contract with Rumpelstiltskin protected.

She’d heard their stories second- and third-hand, but they all boiled down to the fact that their Order had been taken apart piece by piece, a dragon here, a horde of ogres there, a frenzied mob with torches further south. None could fathom why they had been decimated so thoroughly, and even in that Belle recognized her love’s sense of retribution: the clerics had taken her unaware of what she meant to him, and so they had died in equal ignorance.

Rumpelstiltskin had only Regina’s words and two years of memories, and he’d razed down those he believed at fault for her death.

Had she expected Baelfire’s murderess to escape untouched, when Rumple had held his boy’s body and Zelena had dared to gloat over her success?

The witch had signed her own death warrant that night at the Vault. Belle had asked for mercy on her behalf not because Zelena deserved it, but because Rumpelstiltskin had enough darkness in his past to add the murder of a defenseless woman.

Because murder it would be.

Had been.

“Belle?” Her father’s voice came, hesitant, across the door. Only when he knocked did she realize she’d locked herself in. “Are you all right, darling?”

Her first try came out choked, and she coughed a bit to try again. “Yes. Just… taking care of some things.”

So… Rumpelstiltskin had lied at the sheriff’s station, when he’d claimed innocence. He hadn’t twisted his words or given the wrong impression. The only trick he’d used was to magic the video feed. The only manipulation, to push her into backing him up.

He’d made her plea for mercy into his alibi, turned her control of the dagger to his benefit.

He’d asked for an _apology_ from Regina.

Belle choked on a shocked laugh at his daring, then she bit her lip not to cry.

Belle looked down at herself, all dressed up in her new white ensemble. The room around her held no personal items except those she would need today; everything she owned had already made its way to her love’s home. She was ready for the next step in her life – would she still take it?

He had lied. 

He had used her (though, she already knew, he’d claim he was using the assumptions the others had made about her).

What else had he done?

…Or not done.

On a hunch, she slipped her hand behind the headboard of the bed. Dislodging the tape from around the dagger was child’s play, as she’d meant to take it to a better hiding place as soon as she figured one out. Belle held the cold metal for a long moment, already knowing what would happen when she called his name.

It would be the only thing that made sense.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she said in a whisper, not wishing to alarm her father. "Come to me... and explain."

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t answer.

The wave of relief that washed over her buffeted her from the harsher emotions. Yes, he had lied to her, and yes, he had abused her trust. But now she could stop fretting over the daunting responsibility of caring for the dagger. By now, the real one would be safe in a place of Rumpelstiltskin’s choosing, under the kind of protective spells she would never have been able to conjure up.

If he hadn’t betrayed her in the process, Belle would have admired his cleverness to use her as one more layer of protection.

Hell, if he _had_ told her, she would have admitted as much to his face.

But he hadn’t said a word.

And that, she realized, was what she had expected from him.

Trust.

She had trusted him when he’d claimed to have done nothing to Zelena.

She had trusted him when he’d publicly named her the new possessor of the dagger.

But Rumpelstiltskin had yet to trust her with the truth.

She could have looked past Zelena’s death, Belle realized now. She was no fool, and when the master of word games refused to answer a direct plea, it was tantamount to an admittance that he had no wish to be held to her request.

It wouldn’t have shocked her if he’d admitted to the deed, back when Regina had accused him. She'd half expected him to. She wouldn't even have been angry - Neal had been her friend and only companion for several weeks, of course she wanted his killer punished. But she would have been saddened on Rumpelstiltskin's behalf, too aware that revenge wouldn’t bring him closer to Baelfire. 

If he had owned up to the truth, Belle would have stood at his side and faced their allies in his defense, should it have come to that.

But he hadn’t given her the chance.

She could even have understood that he’d give her a fake dagger. The Enchanted Forest would have had a thousand options to hide it well, not to mention that Rumpelstiltskin had kept its very existence a closely guarded secret. But in their little town, now that everyone was aware of the dagger’s power?

Yes, Belle could see the need for subterfuge.

But he hadn’t shared his plan.

Was she angry at him? Yes.

Was she hurt? Of course.

But above all that bitterness, she felt… sad.

Because she knew that Rumpelstiltskin did trust her; there could be no true love without trust. But he didn’t trust himself not to scare her away.

Why was he marrying her, when he feared so deeply? She knew, from the stories Neal had shared about his parents, that his first marriage had been a failure long before Milah had run away. Was Rumpelstiltskin waiting for her to grow as disappointed in him as Neal’s mother had, did he believe she’d tire of their life together to the extreme of betraying him?

Was this fake dagger also a way to protect himself, to ensure that she felt confident in her power over him, and yet wouldn’t be able to hurt him should she ever come to hate him?

Belle wanted the chance to prove that it would _never_ come to that. She wanted to prove him wrong, and finally lay those dark doubts to rest.

She refused to watch him ruin their happy ending.

With that thought in mind, Belle slipped her dagger under the mattress – no sense keeping it in sight even if it wasn’t the real one – and returned to her seat before the mirror, tackling her hair with renewed purpose.

Maybe, not long ago, she would have chosen to leave Rumpelstiltskin again, allowed him to chase her away and ran from his lies and his faults. But Belle hadn’t loved him for this long - hadn’t mourned him and missed him and feared for him – just to let him go when he clung to his old habits and made another wrong choice.

“Belle?” Her father’s voice called. “We need to get going, sweetheart. Archie says he’s halfway there already.”

“Coming,” Belle called back, catching the last curl and pinning it down, then arranging the hat on top of it. “I’m ready.”

So Zelena was dead by her love’s hand.

So he’d hidden his dagger, and he’d made Belle into one of its shields.

She couldn’t change those facts, but she could live with them until the day they came back to haunt him – and they would. Like the rest of them, Rumpelstiltskin was just as unable to outrun his past.

Armed with the truth, no matter how bitter, Belle felt ready to face that future. 

Now she unlocked the door and stepped out, smiling when her father looked her over with sincere appreciation. “You were always the most beautiful girl,” he murmured, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

“And now I will be the happiest, too,” she pointed out.

His expression cooled, but he gave a quick nod. “Here.” He handed her the white bouquet she’d chosen at the flower shop.

“Thank you, father,” she said, pushing her nose against the outer petals to catch the fragrance. “It’s even lovelier than I remember.”

Her father grinned. “Only the best for my daughter.” He offered his arm, and she took it as they made their way downstairs and outside through the library. He waited beside her as she locked the door, then asked softly, “Is it true this is yours?”

“Rumple gave it into my care, yes.” She smiled at the memory. “In both worlds.”

And both times it had been an apology. Once, for dragging her on a manhunt for a desperate man, and here, for keeping her in the dark.

At least they’d moved past that, Belle thought. Now she understood _why_ he lied and tricked her. She wondered what form his apology would take this time when he realized his mistake.

“Belle…” her father started. When she turned to him, he grabbed her free hand, looking troubled even as he searched her face. “Are you truly certain?”

She thought it was foolish to ask. But if she had chosen to become a fool’s wife, then she could answer a foolish question.

Belle nodded. “Of course.”

She had found something precious where nobody had dared look. The man she loved was flawed, but she had always known that. True love was meant to make them stronger for each other, not perfect on their own.

“I love him, dad.” The words renewed her own confidence in that fact even as she said them, “and Rumpelstiltskin loves me too. He truly does.” She squeezed her father’s hand. “Be happy for me. Please?”

“I’m trying, my darling,” he promised.

Belle nodded, satisfied with the sincerity in his voice. That was all she asked from the men in her life.

That they try.

 

THE END  
23/08/14

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Brandy Grote and Murielle Sey for the beta. :)


End file.
